


In the Land of the Midnight Sun

by Moonlark



Category: The Ultimate Sidemen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Scandinavian folklore-based fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2018-12-31 15:29:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12135447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlark/pseuds/Moonlark
Summary: Vik is a youngkunnbarn, a child of magic, apprentice to the local witch-- flung far from his hometown by a vicious troll attack. Tobi is a proud northern warrior, strong and brave, dreaming of glory in battle-- separated from his clan during a raid and left behind for dead. Neither of them intended to become caught up in a quest for the world's very survival. But something dark is stirring in the far north, something that is pushing the trolls down out of their icy mountain homes, something old and wicked and bent on the destruction of every living creature... and they may be the only chance at stopping it.





	1. Chapter 1

The witch's cottage huddled at the edge of a small clearing, looking out over the fjord below. It was a small building, nondescript, rough wood and lumped stone and a layer of insulating sod on the roof blending in with the land around it. Gentle wafts of smoke rose from a squat stone chimney, and a single candle burned in the front-most window, despite the fact that this far north night would not make an appearance for at least another month. The clearing in front of the cottage was mostly taken up by a neatly tended garden with a well in the center, and a row of brambles encircled most of the clearing. The remaining edge was bordered by a babbling, energetic creek, crisp and cool and quick, carrying sweet snowmelt down, away, towards the small town nestled against the tall rock walls of the fjord's mouth.

The door to the cottage flew upen and a boy came running out, sprinting along a narrow, easily missed path through the garden to the well. He was short and slim, his wool tunic far too big for him, draping around his skinny brown shoulders like a blanket; only the tight lacing kept it from sliding off his shoulders entirely. His black hair stood up in every which way like a clump of bulrushes, and the absentminded hand he ran through it as he lowered a bucket into the well did nothing but make it even more tousled.

"Vik!" called a voice from inside the house, and the boy looked up, swore, and began hauling harder on the rope.

"Yes, Gritte, I'll be back in a second!" he answered.

"Pull up some mint while you're out there, would you?"

"For the cough tonic? Should I get thyme as well?"

"Yes and yes. Now wash up and come in here so we can get started."

Vik nodded, humming to himself. Gritte had taught him much. She was still the town's witch, but he had been her student for nearly eight years now, and he liked to think that he could almost any emergency that arose just as well as her. He was nowhere near her skill level in other things, but when it came to caring for people-- that he could do as well as any witch.

He carried the full bucket of water back toward the cottage, pouring it into a wooden tub and washing his hands and face. Then he picked two handfuls of herbs and headed inside.

Half an hour later, he left the cottage again, this time in better-fitting clothes and with a leather satchel slung over his shoulder. If he was heading to town, he needed to look presentable.

It was a long walk down into town, on a trail thin and narrow, but Vik didn't mind. It gave him time to think. The townschildren tended to assume that being the witch's student meant he was something mystical and allknowing, but in reality he had very little time to slow down and relax. Someone was always sick, or needed luck, or help in birthing. And even when there was none of that, Gritte had him doing exercise after exercise to improve his control of his magic.

That was why he had been given to the witch, after all. He had been born with the signs of magic all about him, and they did not fear magic here as much as they had in his birth-parents' land, but it was still understood that a child with wild magic was a danger. And so children born with the signs of magic were given to the witch, so they might learn how to use it.

He was so lost in thought that he didn't realize he was almost at the town until the clang of iron on an anvil reached his ears. It was a loud, unpleasant noise that never failed to set his hair on end, but it signified business. It made for an easy destination, too, and he sighed and headed towards the clanging until he was standing outside the door of the town's smithy.

One of the apprentices noticed him first, then reached over and tugged on the apron of Fridrick Hensen, master blacksmith. Hensen looked up with an annoyed grumble, but the displeasure of being interrupted vanished when he saw who was standing there.

"Ah, young master Vikram!" he exclaimed in his characteristic booming voice. "A wonderful sight; it has been too long. Give me a moment to finish up here-- this is a delicate project-- and then we can trade and discuss!"

Vik nodded. The ornate set of brackets Hensen was working on did look quite delicate. He bowed and stepped back from the door, wondering how long he would be left waiting.

Four or five minutes later, Hensen appeared in the doorway, wiping sooty hands on his leather apron. "My apologies for having kept you waiting," he said as they began to walk toward the docks. "How is Gritte?"

"Oh, she's fine as always," Vik said airily, swinging the satchel off his shoulder. "Still the biggest mother bear north of Jolkonn."

"When has she ever not been?" Hensen laughed. "It runs in the family. We are all mother bears, us Hensens--my sister most of all."

Vik ducked his head to hide a smile. "That is the truest statement to have been made in this town for years, Farr," he replied. The whole Hensen clan was known for it-- a door always open and a hot meal always on the table. Vik did not remember his birth parents, but in the early years when he was too young to be sent as a student to Gritte, Fridrick and his wife Mere had taken him in and raised him as their own.

He reached into his satchel and pulled out a small brown glass bottle. "How is Mere? Any change?"

"Still coughing like hell, but the fever's gone and she's got her appetite back. She swears the medicine is doing wonders, but between you and me? I think half of it is how proud she is that you're making it."

Vik blushed and looked down again. They had made it to the docks. He held the bottle out to Hensen, trying to ignore the heat in his cheeks. "Tell her a small spoonful, twice a day. Breakfast and supper. It should last a week. If the coughing hasn't gone down by then, send someone to get us."

"Twice a day, breakfast, supper, should last a week," Hensen repeated. Then he smiled, big and broad. "Used to be us bossing you aroud, now you give us orders."

"Part of the job," Vik shrugged and turned toward the water. It did seem surreal sometimes, that he was only fifteen and already so well respected in the town, that the people who had raised him now looked to him for advice. Of course, it was really Gritte they were trusting, but he was Gritte's student. So people listened to him.

Movement further up the fjord caught his eye, and he raised a hand to block the sun from his eyes. There were things milling about there, human-sized but not human. As he watched, several of them spilled down the side of the fjord, then seemed to vanish into the rocks.

"Farr," he said cautiously, pointing, "what's that?"

The smith followed his finger, squinting against the midday sun. For a moment, he simply sat there and frowned, as if unsure of what he was seeing. Then his jaw clenched.

When he spoke again, his voice was uncharacteristically quiet. "Go get Gritte. Fast. Tell her there are trolls coming."

The seriousness of Hensen's voice sent Vik leaping into action, sprinting back across town and up the narrow trail. His legs burned, his breath coming in short gasps, but Hensen's words kept replaying in his mind and he knew this was urgent, knew he could not stop.

He had heard tales of trolls. He had always hoped that he'd never have a personal encounter with one.

None of those tales had happy endings.

The cottage came into view, and he stumbled the last few feet before bursting through the door and sinking down on a wooden stool, gasping like a fish out of water.

"My god, Vik," Gritte said, poking her head out of the kitchen. "What on earth made you run up here like that?"

"Trolls... coming..." he managed to get out. "Your brother... told me to... get you... fast. So... I ran."

Gritte went silent, then spun toward the rack by the door. She fastened her cloak about her shoulders and grabbed her staff. "Follow when you can breathe again. But don't get too close." Then the door breezed open and shut behind her, and Vik was alone.

He stood and moved towards the door, but had to stop to wait out a spell of lightheadedness. Gritte was right, of course. He was in no shape to head back down yet. Besides, he had succeeded in alerting her. Faced with Gritte's powerful magic, the trolls might just turn and run.

His breath came back eventually, and as soon as it did he was off down the trail, heading for town once more. His hand gripped at the handle of the knife in his belt, even though he knew it was a futile gesture. What good would a single belt knife be against a troll?

That was what the town had warriors for.

And Gritte.

They were more than enough to deal with a few trolls, Vik hoped.

He heard the sounds of battle well before he could see the town, but it still came as a surprise to see the stony beings rampaging toward the town, vicious snarls and roars mixing with the sounds of their clubs crashing down on a wall of shields and skin alike. The town's warriors bravely held their ground, Hensen shouting orders from the middle, and trolls were slowly being pushed back, and Gritte--

\--was over by the docks, dark light flashing around her hands as she drew up one of her many spells he did not yet know. She aimed at a group of trolls, and the dark light shot out and wrapped around them like a net, cracking their stone bodies into a mound of rubble.

For a moment, Vik was transfixed in awe. Then he remembered what he was meant to be doing and sprang into action, hurrying into the crowd and trying to work his way across to Gritte.

He was her student. He was supposed to be there fighting beside her. He would not let her-- or Fridrick, or anyone in this town-- down. He was halfway there--

And then, suddenly, the line of warriors broke.

A trio of trolls smashed through the shield wall, plowing into the buildings behind it, and the crowd of civilians milling about the marketplace in fear communally decided they wanted to head in the other direction. Vik was caught up in the tide of screaming people, and though he elbowed and shoved, he could not break free. He was carried along by the terrified mass, and did not manage to escape until they were halfway down the docks.

The lack of people around him made him stumble forward, and he had to take a moment to orient himself. This was the middlemost dock, the longest one, and he had somehow made it nearly to the end.

He turned and stood on tiptoe to try to see how the battle was going. The warriors had managed to close the breach in their line, and Gritte's dark light was making fast work of the few trolls that remained. None of the three that had gotten through could be seen anymore. Several more trolls were fleeing back up the fjord, clubs trailing shamefully behind them. As he watched, the final few trolls turned and ran as well.

Vik allowed himself a sigh of relief. The battle was over, and the town had won.

Suddenly, there came another roar, much closer than the others, and he looked up--

There was a troll charging down the dock right at him!

He screamed and called fire to his fingers, blasting a wave of heat and light into the troll's face. The troll roared in anger and skidded to a halt, staggering back, and Vik had a brief moment to savor his success--

A heavy backhand from a stony fist caught him across the chin and sent him flying backwards off the dock, into the frigid water. There was time for a split second of panic as the waves closed over him, and then the back of his head smacked into solid wood. A starburst of pain erupted-- and then darkness took him and he knew no more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: why did this chapter take so long to write?  
> Also me: *getting my ass kicked by college, depression, medical shit, and some truly awful antibiotics*  
> There’s probably some ooc shit in here but tbh at this point i’m too tired to care. Enjoy!

Tobi sat on the ground outside the Greathall with a sword in his lap and stared out toward the sea.

Inside the hall, there was a celebration going. The warriors had just returned from a successful raid (a spear singing in his hand, fire leaping through the village, catching a Sothron axe on his shield and thrusting under it...) and spirits were high all around. A bonfire was blazing in the square before the Greathall, three full cows were slowly roasting, and the mead flowed freely into cups and stomachs. And yet--

Tobi was not in a celebratory mood.

He looked down at the sword in his lap. It was old, well weathered, a gray steel blade in the usual brown leather scabbard, but still as sharp and durable as always. The silver inlays on the small hilt were still polished to show his great grandfather's name, and the handle's leather wrap was lovingly tooled. It was as familiar as anything Tobi had ever known.

The sword was his now, he supposed, but it was hard for him to fully believe that. Just two days ago, his father had been the one to bear the blade. His father had taught him how to fight with this very sword, had carried it in raids and slain monsters with it, had mentioned it in story after story of his great grandfather's glorious escapades and his grandmother's fierce battles against vicious neighboring clans, and had left it hung over the mantle during those autumn days when everything became secondary to the gathering of the harvest.

His father had died with this sword in hand.

He had gone to Valhalla, Tobi knew. It was a good death, a warrior's death, and the gods were sure to recognize that. And now, any time Tobi headed into battle, it was certain that his father's spirit would be there fighting beside him.

But still.

Tobi did not want to dishonor his father's memory, but he could not chase the taste of grief from the back of his throat. Tears were easy to hide-- they vanished into the fur of his cloak and left almost no mark behind, hard to see even in the long light of the summer nights. But the tremor that wanted to creep into his voice, the dryness that made him blink and sniff against his will? That was harder.

The muffled noise of a drunken song within the Greathall echoed through the courtyard, spilling out from under thatched eaves as the small side doors swung upen, and Tobi straightened up and grabbed the flagon of mead he had set on the ground next to him. Footsteps rounded the corner, unsteady but carefree, and he tensed-- but it was only Simon and JJ, leaning heavily against each other, with Josh trailing behind, concentrating on the ground as he carefully chose his footing.

"Hey, guys," Tobi said, and laughed as JJ shrieked in surprise and stumbled backwards, sending him and Simon to the ground in a heap. Josh stopped just short of tripping over them and squinted forward for a moment before seeing Tobi.

"Oh, there you are," Josh said, nodding. He looked down at JJ and Simon. "You see? There he is."

"Should tell Ethan, he'll be pissed," Simon responded, struggling to get to his feet without the aid of a sense of balance.

"Oh yeah, that's right." Josh turned around and yelled, "HERE HE IS!" as loud as he could. It echoed twice before being lost among the noise of the celebration, but not before a faint "You bastard!" was heard in reply.

Several seconds later, Ethan rounded the corner at speed, just as flushed as the other boys but somehow more coordinated. "That's not fuckin' fair," he griped, skidding to a halt just as Simon had finally managed to stand and knocking him over again. JJ, who hadn't even bothered to sit up, collapsed into wild laughter.

"S' perfectly fair," Josh replied, "I found him, you didn't. So you lose."

"But you knew where he was gonna be!"

"Then you made a dumb bet," Tobi cut in. He'd seen this enough to know that Ethan was going to have to do something stupid-- for the next week, if he was unlucky. Then again, at this point not even the most senior warriors would be surprised. If it had been anyone else, maybe, but their tight group of shieldbrothers was known for that kind of behavior.

On the ground, Simon and JJ had obviously given up on standing back up and scooted over to lean against the wall next to Tobi, where they were less likely to fall over again. Even sitting, they were quite unsteady, and Tobi had to put out a hand to keep Simon from slumping over onto either his lap or the ground.

Simon squinted at him, then frowned. “What're you doing out here? The party's inside, you know."

JJ patted his arm. "The party's wherever we want it to be, Si." It was perhaps the only time Tobi had ever heard him sound serious.

"Holy shit," Simon whispered, "that's genius. Did you all hear that? The party's wherever we want it to be. Wherever we want. Holy _shit_. That's amazing. You're amazing."

"Save it for the bedfurs," Josh quipped, "I don't wanna have to watch."

Tobi laughed. "Is that where you want the party to be? I don't think I'll be accepting that invite."

"You're not invited to that one," JJ said, shaking his head. "Private party, two people only."

"You always have the best ideas." Simon draped an arm around JJ, burrowing his face in the other boy’s neck. He had barely settled there when he jerked upright again, almost knocking his head against the wall, and turned to Tobi. “But what are you doing out here?”

Tobi sighed. “I’m just... not feeling it tonight.”

“Why—” Ethan began, but a look from Josh and a gesture down to the sword in Tobi’s lap cut him off. “Oh.”

It was silent for a moment. That moment became very long, to the point where it would probably be better to call it several moments.

“You know, he’s watching over you now,” Josh said.

“Yeah,” Tobi sighed halfheartedly.

“He’s in Valhalla, feasting and fighting as all the great warriors do.”

“Yeah...”

“And he’s watching over you, and he’s proud of you, okay?”

"Yeah, I know. It's just... there’s a lot to live up to." That was putting it lightly. He looked down at the sword and remembered that it had once taken the head of a king. "And I'm no great hero."

JJ snorted. "Bullshit."

Tobi looked up in surprise. "Huh?"

"I said bullshit."

"On what front?"

"Th' "no great hero" one. 'S bullshit."

"What do you mean?" Tobi frowned.

"You can be a great hero. Fact, I'll call it now: y' gonna be the greatest hero n' fiercest warrior."

Simon grinned. "Tobi Skull-Splitter, they're gonna call you."

Josh laughed. "Tobi the Wintersword! Nothing is colder than the bite of his blade!"

"Tobi, the Wolf's Fang!" Ethan chimed in.

"Tobi, Sothral's Fear!"

"Tobi Swiftsteel!"

"Tobi, Wrath of the Gods!"

"Tobi Trollslayer!"

"Tobi, Demon of the North!"

Tobi laughed and waved away the ridiculous and extravagant bynames, glad for the millionth time that his skin was dark enough to hide a blush. "Oh, shut up, you goofs,” and they all laughed with him.

They sat there joking a while longer, and then Ethan noticed his tankard was empty and stood to head back inside, with JJ and Simon quickly following. Josh stood too, but hung back for a moment, waiting until the others rounded the corner out of sight.

"But really," he said, eyes too clear for the amount of mead he had seemingly consumed, "you'll make him proud. I can feel it."

For the second time that night, Tobi had to blink back tears from the corners of his eyes once more— no longer tears of sadness, or any one emotion in particular, but a mix of feelings too jumbled to identify. “Thanks,” he managed around the lump in his throat.

Josh nodded. “Take care,” he said, and then turned and left Tobi to his thoughts.

Tobi sat there for a few minutes longer, staring out over the water, looking ever westward. The sun would not set for another month at least, but it was still a nice night.

He looked down once more at the sword in his lap: his family's sword, his great grandfather's sword, his grandmother's sword, his father's sword.

He would bear it well.

He stood and threaded the sheath onto his belt, turned away from the sea, and headed back inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tobi supports everyone irl, so I wanted a chapter with everyone supporting Tobi. He deserves all the support.


End file.
